Sacrosanctity
by lumoscrimsom
Summary: Technology and democracy are dead. The world is now a place ruled by religion and corrupt men hiding behind their crucifixes. Father Remus, a priest enveloped in an underground world of sin, takes Harry under his wing to train him for the Church, but his intentions for the boy are not clear. All Sirius knows is that they could never be described as pure.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Nothing except the idea is mine.

**A/N:** This is a none-magical AU. It could be considered as controversial I suppose, because it's about the church (in a completely fictional way!), but I thought I'd run with the idea and see if anyone's interested in the slightly twisted side of my imagination…mwa ha haaa! By the way, all of the ranks and titles, like archdeacon are just put in a made up order for the story and some are completely made up roles, so don't be alarmed. Enjoy!

**Chapter One**

_Hallow, Prepotence_

"Sin. Something each of us is subject to, for man was made with sin in his heart. This means that our beloved Christ and our forgiving Lord expect us to repent. This does not simply mean attending church like every other God-fearing Parish in Prepotence, but to take your punishment a step further. To earn God's forgiveness, we must prove to Him that we will give up everything to please Him in preparation to exist in a blissful infinity with Him and our Christ Jesus – what is 'everything' for us? For men? For the selfish creatures we are? Ourselves. Thus, we must punish our physical shells, our bodies, our minds. The lesson of pain helps us to remember that we sin with every breath we wrongly take and the simplicity of our hard lives reminds us that we deserve nothing we have. Anything less is an insult to Him. Anything less is a sin."

The priest lent forward, his hands gripping both edges of the lectern, his eyes scanning those listening, rapt, in the nave, "For everyone has sinned; we all fall short of God's glorious standard. Romans 3:23. This is the most obvious example of what I speak. The more we show God that we recognise our place on his world and the more we understand our role here to show him our humble natures, the closer we are to acceptance in His perfect dwellings beyond this world."

He stepped down from the lectern and moved quietly across the sanctuary to the altar, where he touched the simple wooden cross briefly. He avoided he eyes of those in the nave, looking instead through the broken pane in the stained glass window to the east. The sun glared through, still low in the sky.

"We are all infected and impure with sun. When we display our righteous deeds, they are nothing but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall and our sins sweep up away like the wind. Isaiah 64:6." The priest looked back at the silent worshipers, "After hymn number 751, _Forgive Our Sins as We Forgive_, we will move on to the sacrament. Please line up behind the chancel."

_Later_

"Nice service. One might call it a work of art."

The priest didn't look over his shoulder as he lifted his black stole over his head and hung it over the stand by the door – it had been embroidered with gold patterns and gifted to him by a family in his parish for his twentieth birthday. Following the stole was his alb, the white garment fluttering in the breeze from another broken window. Slipping his white tab from the collar of his floor length cassock, he placed it on the dresser before unbuttoning the cassock itself. Only when he was left standing in his black cotton trousers did he turn, having to hang the cassock on the back of the door. To do so, he had to ask the visitor to come in and close the door. A domineering hand grasped his shoulder roughly to run him around. He stumbled back a step and hit his arm against the door, forcing it closed despite its poor fit in the frame.

"I especially liked the hymn. A nice touch, giving hope of forgiveness to them even though you don't believe it yourself."

"They aren't weak. They are misled."

"Mislead indeed." The man let go of the priest's shoulder with a laugh, his head tilted back. "Misled by you. You've changed." He hand moved again to lift the chain from against the priest's chest. It was no ordinary cross. It was inverted and on a chain so long it touched his navel. The man let it go, letting the cross bounce against his midriff. "I heard about the incident yesterday."

"James, it was—"

"I'm tired of hearing excuses." James said, his voice lowering. He glanced back at the door as though he was checking whether it was still closed. He took a step closer, "I covered for you as soon as they started asking questions. I thought you had _finished_ with this."

"I have." The priest answered calmly, walking back to the dresser to pick up a long piece of rope with miniscule shards of glass tied into the thick frays, "But I keep the cross not to represent Satan, but Peter and my humility and humbleness before Christ."

"Not many will see it that way." James warned him, watching with a sickened expression as the priest looped the rope around his waist twice. It was thin enough to hide beneath a cassock when pulled tight, which he did. The priest's expression showed pain only for a moment as the rope pressed into the barely healed cuts around the circumference of his waist, but he quickly regained control and smoothed his frown out.

"You still do that?" James asked in concern.

"Not during Sunday service."

"Because that makes a difference." James scoffed. The priest tied the rope, his expression still carefully blank. He passed James to reach for his cassock and pull it on. James watched silently, leaning against the stone wall as the priest buttoned the cassock with swift fingers. H slipped the white tab into his collar as he turned to face James again.

"I have a job to do, James." He said, his voice, low, "Is there anything else you needed, or did you come here just to accuse me of treachery against the Church?"

James raised his eyebrows and took a step forward to place his hand on the priest's shoulder. "I'm sorry this has happened to you. When I brought you here…" he shook his head and looked away, "I never would have thought you would rise to the position of priest in such at the age of twenty."

"It's my calling." The young priest smiled gently, lifting his hand to touch James' face as the other man's own hand dropped. "I, of all people, am aware of my sins. Only I can tell the people of this parish the truth about themselves. The truth will save them from damnation."

James met his gaze again and stared for a long moment before shaking his head. He turned away, yanking the door open to leave. A low creak filled the air between them before it hit the wall. "Do you plan on a promotion?" he asked without turning.

"To be a suffragan bishop isn't what I came here for, what you placed me here for. The way for me to fulfil my purpose here is to continue what I do now."

The priest watched as James shook his head and left. He was alone in the room at the back of the church, staring at an empty doorway.

_Hallow, Prepotence, six years later_

The door, its wood darkened by the pressing rain, swung open at a brush by Harry. The doors had been loose on their hinges for as long as he could remember, but the Church had refused to fund the repairs. They had been told that it was selfish to beg for money for something so unimportant that would only be for their benefit.

As he opened the door, the other door flew open beside him, swinging out and slamming against the black stone wall outside. Archdeacon Sirius stormed out, his cassock billowing behind him and sweeping around his ankles in the pools of water that gathered on the uneven ground, the fabric darkening even further. When Harry was spotted by the older man, Sirius performed a low, mocking bow.

"Good morning, oh great Harry, the boy who lived. I'd watch your back in there." he advised with a dark grin, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the church, "He's in a bad mood. With me, at least."

Harry frowned after Sirius' back when he strode away towards the Parish over which the church presided. _Boy who lived_, he thought bitterly. It was the nickname Sirius had given him when he had learned of how he had been abandoned in the woods outside the parish as a babe and nearly died from the cold of winter. Harry hated being called _the boy who lived_, because it drew attention to how brutally he had been abandoned and immediately orphaned, but he couldn't stand up to Sirius the Archdeacon of Hallow. The only man in a higher position was the Suffragan Bishop of Hallow and it wasn't as though he would listen to a common Noveant such as Harry. The bishop of their province himself would care even less. That was usually the way – the higher the power, the further from their Noveants they were, so the less they understood what they really needed.

There was, however, James. The youngest Archbishop of the province. He was the Archbishop of the whole of Prepotence and was the kindest of their leaders. Kindness didn't meant forgiveness, though, and he was never available to talk, the reason being that he was kept away by assignments from the Pope as well as the fact that his home was, primarily, the capital of Prepotence, The Grail.

Harry came out of his head and turned to go into the church, pulling the doors closed behind him against the rain. Most of the light was closed off by doing so, forcing his eyes to adjust to the meagre light of the candles in the black stone building. The only time natural light shone into the church was through the east window during sunrise.

Despite the lack of light, Harry could see the priest seated on a low stool in the sanctuary at the head of the church, a large object resting against his leg. Harry recognised it to be a cello and watched as the priest lifted his bow and a beautiful, haunting melody filled the empty space of the church, its low tendrils caressing Harry's ears as he listened. It wasn't often music was heard outside of a hymn. It wasn't outlawed – yet – simply frowned upon.

Harry bit his lower lips; maybe the priest had forgotten about their appointment. It looked as though he had walked into a private moment. Harry started to back away, thinking about the punishment he might receive for being caught in the church when the priest didn't want him there. When he reached the doors, the music stopped and the priest beckoned him over before continuing the piece. Harry thought he recognised the notes as they reached him, but was distracted by the thought of sitting beside the priest alone. What if he _had_ interrupted a private moment? Harry had never personally seen the priest angry, but he had heard tales of how thorough his punishments were.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Harry made his way to the sanctuary. He meant to walk quickly so as not to displease the priest, but his feet dragged as he walked through the nave were the Noveants sat during service as they always did. He was always humbled by this beautiful building and by the sermons the priest gave. They were to be selfless and they had been taught that to rush was to be selfish, to want to be somewhere faster – that if God had given them legs that carry them comfortably at a certain speed, then they should never dare to push the limit of comfort that He had gifted them, for He could have been merciless and given them discomfort at any speed. This had always confused Harry, as other sermons had taught them that to be comfortable was sinful, as they must punish themselves every day to show Him that they would give up anything to be with Him when their time here was over.

Nonetheless, Harry always took his time to admire the architecture – the church itself was beautiful in spite of its ugly usage. Harry snapped his eyes back to the priest, fearful that he had heard the blasphemous thought. The man was still seated with his back to him, the music from the string instrument louder now. The priest swayed with his dark melody, his head bowed. His whole body was tensed and hunched over the cello as his arm moved the bow faster, the notes becoming abrupt. Harry thought it sounded dangerous. There was still that familiarity nudging the back of his mind, but he couldn't know the song. The only music he ever heard was the hymns in church and the psalm that represented Prepotence. To play music for oneself was considered a selfish, pleasurable act.

Harry reached the steps before the chancel and waited, his eyes flickering from the stone floor to the priest in the sanctuary that could be seen through the large stone archway. After a short minute, the notes from the cello came to a short, abrupt climax. The silence stung Harry's ears.

The priest stood and turned in one sudden and fluid movement, making Harry start, untwisting his body from around the instrument. He rested the cello and bow against the wall of the sanctuary beside the altar. Harry watched as he stepped in front of the altar and bowed, tracing a cross over himself, before turning and making his way into the chancel. The priest looked him over briefly before descending the two steep steps. He beckoned for Harry to follow him into the room at the back of the church beside the archway to the sanctuary that was always closed. Inside, Harry found himself looking around a small, boxy room that contained only a narrow wooden bed and a dresser with a minimal one drawer. Two candles lit up the windowless room.

"Stay here."

Harry didn't dare to move even an inch until the priest came back with two wooden chairs. He set them at the end of the bed and gestured for Harry to take one. Harry waited for the priest to sit first, but when he didn't, he began to feel foolish so took the one nearest to the door. Once Harry was sitting, the priest sat opposite him. Even when sitting, the priest was taller than Harry by a full head. The fact that he sat with his back straight as a ruler only made him seem more intimidating. He seemed to sit forward a little, as if trying not to let his back touch the back of the chair. Harry automatically straightened his back, oddly vulnerable.

The priest studied him in silence. Harry tried not to stare back as he was assessed. The priest was tall and slim, and had blonde hair that fell just shy of his shoulders. His sharp blue eyes pierced whomever they looked upon and his mouth was usually pressed in a stern, straight line. He entwined his fingers and rested his hands on his lap. Compared to Harry's shorter frame and dark hair matched with dull brown eyes, the priest looked like an angel and was often compared to one by those in Hallow. Harry held the priest's gaze nervously, fighting the urge to look away from those eyes that seemed to bore through him and into the core of his God-given soul.

"Your name?"

Harry jumped at the sudden question and automatically answered, "Harry."

"Ah, Sirius told me of you. The boy who lived—"

"I'm—!" Harry cut off his frustrated cry with a cringe as the priest gave him a cold glare. Harry flinched as though he had been physically struck. He lowered his eyes to the priest's hands again, the tips of his own fingers white as he pressed them together.

"If you had let me speak, I would have continued to say that a name is not what defines him, but who he is and how he offers himself to God." The priest finished, "Which is why we do not give orphans last names. It gives you a place within the Church to prove yourselves. Putting parentless children in their places is what we do."

Harry stared in disbelief. Surely that was too close to an insult to the Church to be proper for a priest? The priest seemed to know what Harry was thinking, his mouth curling into a wry smile.

"I realise you know that my name is Remus, even though I know those within my parish refer to me as 'the priest', so I will not introduce myself."

"I attend every service." Harry stated with a humble bow of his head.

"I know." The priest smiled looking away, "Are you aware that I was an orphan?"

Harry looked up at the priest, surprised, "No, I didn't know."

"I cannot remember the name that was given to me by my orphanage in The Grail," the priest went on with that distant smile, "I was adopted at an early age and given the name I have now."

"Did you ever have a last name?" Harry asked, before cursing himself inwardly at forgetting to ask permission to ask a question. The priest didn't seem to mind, however.

"No. I was an orphan since I was a babe, so I had no father to gift me with a name, much like you."

"Gift you?"

The bitter smile was back. "A surname is an identity, a reassurance of where you have come from and where your heart will always belong. Without one, you grow accustomed to being alone. You have no history or connection to the rest of mankind."

Harry smiled, unsure of how to react to such a thing. The silence stretched out between them as he shifted uncomfortably on his hard chair. The priest watched him intently, seemingly unaware of the intense air between them. Harry shifted again and cursed himself for the second time that day – comfort was a thing a man deserved little of, if any, so he should refrain from showing discomfort. Especially before a priest.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked, his damning curiosity bettering his common sense.

"You applied to train for a deacon position, didn't you?" the priest frowned, his fair brows drawing together to create a deep crease between them. The corners of his mouth turned down for the first time in their meeting. Harry mimicked the confused expression for a split second before turning it into amused realisation.

"That was years ago." He smiled, remembering his immature scrawl on the front of the letter when he young and impulsive, "I never thought I'd be considered."

"Everyone is considered." The priest assured him seriously. Then his expression lightened and he smiled, leaning forwards eagerly. Harry watched in fascination as the priest flinched and leaned back on his chair again, his hand briefly touching his waist and covered it up with a small smile. "We had to wait until you were of age. Are you still partial to the idea?"

"Of course." Harry answered before he could stop himself.

"You might have worked out by now that this has been an interview of sorts, allowing me to assess your suitability to the position under me." the priest informed him. Harry couldn't stop his eyebrows from lifting.

"Under you?"

A look of cool question crossed the priest's face, "Is that unsatisfactory?"

"No!" Harry said quickly, before collecting himself and quietening himself, "I only meant that, well, I thought the deacons trained in the capital parish before being assigned to their home church as an apprentice curate?"

"Your training will be with me." the priest answered easily, "I have need to be in The Grail soon, so I assure the Archbishop that he would have no need to find a priest for you there. We will have to clear this with the Sister at your orphanage before we think about this any further, though. You must be sure you want this, Harry. This can't be a lingering childhood wish."

"It's not." Harry decided on the spot, his jaw clenching as he thought of Sirius, "I have something to prove."

The priest nodded and stood, offering a hand out. Harry got to his feet, too, and shook the hand firmly. The priest held on, appraising him silently with an expression that was no longer astringent in any way.

"You remind me of myself at your age." The priest said with another half-smile, releasing Harry's hand, "Driven to get what you want." His expression suddenly turned serious, making Harry's stomach clench nervously. "Be careful. When I was your age, there was a good chance I could have been executed for a case of blasphemy of which I was later found innocent. It is hard for a holy man to stay free of sin. Sometimes we sin without even realising it."

Harry itched to ask what had happened, but the priest's expression had closed up again as he opened the door to the church and ushered him out. They walked down the aisle of the nave side by side until they reached the doors. Harry could hear the rain pattering outside. At least it sounded as though it was finally slowing. It would be back, no doubt, in the afternoon as they were in the midst of Hallow's rainy season.

"I would appreciate it if you would address me as Father Remus." The priest said, flashing his teeth in an expression that wasn't quite a smile and wasn't quite a threat, as he pushed the nearest door open a crack, letting in the fresh smell of the rain. "To yourself and others as well as me. I am aware, you know, what people think of me. I would like to rid myself of such a negative image. Everything I do is for your own good."

Harry nodded as the priest – Father Remus – gestured for him to exit through the door.

**A/N2:** Oh please don't hurt me! Or drown me in hate messages! I don't hate the church, I really don't – I find Christianity intriguing, as well as the extreme lengths to which the very few will go to prove their commitment to their faith. I've mixed up Protestant and Catholic stuff in this fic, so try not to take any of the details to heart. It is, after all, set up in a messed up future. Drop a review if you liked it and even if you didn't, just be gentle…


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **The characters aren't mine, unfortunately.

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who read my attempt at a different style of story and thanks to **Made-in-Denmark **for your review…also, thanks for not flaming me. I wouldn't mind more reviews though…hint, hint.

**Chapter Two**

_Hallow, Prepotence_

The rain had ceased by the time Harry was making his way down the road to the orphanage. He pushed his wet hair from his eyes, staring down at the uneven cobbles on the unused road, careful not to trip on any. The only time the Church had repaired the main road that wound through the centre of the parish was before Harry had been born. He had been told that it had been re-laid because the Pope had driven through each of the parishes once years ago.

"Harry!"

Harry looked around just before he entered the market, the fast-paced end of the parish where one was required to keep their wits about them lest they be swept away with the amount of bustling bodies bartering for food and the small hands of the pickpockets as they darted back and forth between allies so as not to be caught by anyone in the Church. Currently, three young boys were running towards Harry through the crowds, each carrying a small, burnt loaf of bread.

"We got bread!" the one in the middle crowed happily, holding it up to show Harry, "They gave it to us for a penny each just 'cause the crust's burnt!"

Harry was inwardly sorry that he couldn't remember the boys' names, but they were from another orphanage. Most orphaned children knew him and often sort him out to help them with bullies or even just for company, but it wasn't odd for a boy looking to get into the Church. Even though he had forgotten about applying, it didn't seem that Harry's subconscious had changed its mind on the matter.

_Meanwhile_

James raised an eyebrow at Sirius, "Why exactly do you want to go to The Grail? You've been waiting for this to happen so you can go back, haven't you? Your duties are here, unless there's something happening over there that I don't know about."

"How could there be?" Sirius asked with a smirk, "You have an uncanny ability to unearth secret plans that no one ever dares to keep anything from you. You were more fun before you were promoted."

"You certainly try to enough to test my patience." James sighed, "Remus, do you mind him tagging along with you and the boy? Keep it in mind that the two of you must act with some decorum. If you're going to be performing services, you have to remember that you are representing Hallow. I expect your behaviour to reflect the parish's strict image, which means," he looked pointedly at Sirius, who raised his hands in innocence, "No funny business."

Remus looked up briefly from shuffling papers on his desk. They were in the office behind his church, signing the relevant papers that would allow them to cross the borders within Prepotence. "Funny business?"

"No breaking the law." James clarified flatly, "I have enough to deal with both here and in The Grail without the two of you ruining everything."

"Oh dear," Sirius mocked, "Is His Lordship not pulling his weight? Are you being overworked, or do you mean that your time is being taken up by looking after the old—?"

James' hackles rose as he cut Sirius off, "The Pope is an old man who requires constant care. I do not fill that role and you know—"

"Care from an Archbishop?" Sirius interrupted, "That's hardly recognising your position, is it? Surely a man of your seniority in the Church has better things to be doing than ensuring the old man wipes his—"

"You honestly dare to speak of him that way before _me_?" James glared, taking a step forward. Remus, having decided that this argument wasn't going to end on its own, turned away from the modest desk and stepped between the other two men, holding up a hand impatiently.

"Stop squabbling like a pair of children." He snapped, "James, I'm fine with Sirius travelling with us to The Grail. He won't necessarily stay with us whilst we're there, but I'll try to keep an eye on him. No, we won't be breaking any laws, either. Now, you obviously have business in Hallow, or you wouldn't be here, correct?"

"Right." James nodded.

"So you worry about that, instead of worrying about us. What's your problem about us going without you, anyway?" Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned back against the cold, stone wall. Remus looked to James, waiting for his answer, but the older man didn't speak, looking away instead to gaze distractedly through the window. "He doesn't trust me." Sirius stated, annoyance evident in his voice.

"Can you recall a reason why I _should_ trust you?" James asked incredulously.

"So he went to visit Annabel the last time he was in The Grail—"

"Three months!" James stressed, interrupting Remus, "Three months ago, when he was supposed to be here, preparing for Easter. If it was years ago, I might be able to forget more easily, but it wasn't."

"It's not like the rest of us haven't made mistakes." Remus said reasonably.

"You know that better than most," James said pointedly, looking at Remus, "But you've been clean since six years ago since the incident with that cross."

"Wrong!" Sirius sang, wagging a delighted finger in the Archbishop's face, "I caught him with his cello yesterday. Let the boy see it, too."

"You've already told me about that, Sirius." James sighed, "A little music is hardly what you did."

"A little music can turn into more, according to Remus' sermons," Sirius lectured, "Anyway, self-composed music is being outlawed starting next month, so what he did is no less than what I did. Breaking the law is breaking the law and I don't see why 'angel' Remus should be exempt."

Remus closed his eyes against their aimless bickering that would go nowhere and never had. They had been, years ago, the closest of friends, despite their being involved with the group named the Order. They had a shared past filled with music, substance abuse and sex and didn't enjoy being reminded of it. Remus had met them at the end of their seditious years and James had been overprotective of him since he had been involved in an unfortunate incident. If he had been caught, Remus could have been executed, so he owed James his life, but the past he had with Sirius was far more intimate. The two men had a common goal in having Remus on their side, and the fact only drove them further apart each day.

"It still stands that you can't be trusted in The Grail." James snapped, "Remus can go alone."

"Perhaps I want to visit family." Sirius shrugged.

"Have you forgotten that you have none, or have you forgotten that I do, in fact, have a memory?" James asked sarcastically. Remus wiped a hand across his face tiredly at James' sneer, "The point is—"

"_The point is_," Remus stepped in, raising his voice, "That I am going to The Grail with Harry and with Sirius as our escort. You, James, will stay here to fulfil your job and find my temporary replacement. This is what has already been decided, so I see no reason to debate now."

"But—"

"An archbishop being told what to do by a mere priest. Priceless." Sirius smirked. James glowered silently, folding his arms, but the tension melted instantly.

"A mere priest?" Remus repeated, jabbing a finger at Sirius' arm.

_Parish Centre Orphanage_

"When will you be leaving?"

Harry smiled at the Mother, shaking out one of the moth-bitten sheets in one of the small bedrooms upstairs, dust filling the air. He had to cover his mouth with one hand, dropping a corner of the sheet to cough before he could spread it over one of the beds.

"I will leave when Father Remus is ready." He replied once he was recovered, "I'm prepared to wait a few more days. I have already waited years to get as far as hearing from him."

The old woman broke eye contact, turning away to start making another of the beds, "You're so good with the children, harry. It would be a shame to leave them."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Was she trying to make him feel guilty for leaving? He was seventeen – surely it was time, anyway? As much as he loved the children, and Mother herself, he wanted to go to The Grail and begin his life.

"Have they eaten lunch yet?" he called over his shoulder as he passed Mother to head down the stairs and into the kitchen. He heard her close behind as he reached into the bread bin, his fingers brushing only crumbs until he was forced to open the lid further to peer in. Locating the last loaf inside, he pulled it out and accepted the knife Mother was offering, along with a small slab of butter.

"No, but you just make your own. I'll have Draco help me later."

Harry scoffed silently, slicing the remainder of the loaf onto separate plates.

"You need to prepare. You never know when the priest will come for you."

"Draco won't help, so let me do this. I don't mind and you know that. Once I'm gone, you'll have your hands full with trying to control him."

Mother stepped forward to start spreading butter beside him as Harry bent to pull a tub of old homemade broth from the cupboard, along with cooking pot. They worked in quite harmony for a while, the kitchen filled with the smells of the broth cooking over the fire.

"He needs to grow up, is all." Mother said after a while, still thinking about Draco, "Your leaving might help him do that – you won't be here to help him out of trouble anymore. He will learn."

"He won't." Harry sighed, heaving the pot off the fire and moving to the counter to ladle it into bowls, "I've never _helped_ him, I've _dragged_ him out. Once I'm gone, all he'll have is his freedom to do whatever he wants."

"Do you think so little of me that I cannot look after a child?" Mother asked with a raised brow. Harry looked down at her, at her grey wiry hair, her slightly plump form, her stern expression behind her round spectacles and sighed. He wanted to argue further and remind her that Draco wasn't a child anymore and could often be dangerous when in a foul mood, but he would only be talking himself into staying in Hallow if he spoke. He was saved from debating whether or not his decision to leave was too selfish or not when they heard a knock on the door.

"I'll get it." Harry muttered, touching Mother on the shoulder as he squeezed past in the narrow kitchen to go back through the hallway and past the stairs, calling up to the others that lunch was ready before answering the door. "Oh, Father Remus." He said in surprise, bowing his head respectfully with a smile. His smile disappeared, however, when Archdeacon Sirius stepped into view beside Father Remus. "And the Archdeacon. What a pleasant surprise."

"Don't lie, Harry, it's sinful." Sirius smirked, pushing past Remus and forcing harry to step aside to gain access to the orphanage. The children who had started coming down for lunch stared at their guests, recognising them instantly, before hurrying together into the kitchen. It wasn't often holy men visited Noveants in their homes. Sirius made his way into the front room, where Harry often joined the older orphans in card games in the evening, but was blocked in the doorway by Mother. She clasped her hands before her and peered up at the towering archdeacon.

"I am Sister Grace." Mother said sharply, "I have been running this orphanage alone since Sister Margaret's death nine years ago. Harry has helped me ever since."

Harry edged around Sirius, embarrassed, to stand behind Mother and rest his hand on her shoulder, silently beseeching for her to stop. The archdeacon was listening with an irritatingly amused expression, his arms folding.

"Ever since he was brought here," Mother went on stubbornly, "He has been a valuable member of this family. Now that he is older, he is almost running the place." She stepped forward out of Harry's grasp, aiming a hot glare at Sirius. Harry had had that looked aimed at him many times in his childhood – she may have been an old woman, but she could still send a chill down his spine. "He is a good, God-fearing boy, so I ask you, Archdeacon, not to accuse him of sin just to amuse yourself. You can punish me for speaking out of place, but I stand by what I say."

Harry looked up warily, but Sirius still appeared to be merely amused. Before he could reply, a hand grasped his arm and pushed him to the side. Father Remus came into view, making Mother take an involuntary step back. "Oh, I didn't realise you were here, too, Father."

"I apologise," Remus smiled, "I would have made myself known properly, had the Archdeacon here not been so impolite. No punishment will be given, of course, Sister." He added, sending Sirius a withering glance, "Sirius isn't the kind to be easily offended and even if he was, you are right. He does bully Harry and it _will_ stop."

"I…thank you." Sister Grace said graciously, bowing again. Harry met Sirius' eyes briefly. The archdeacon nodded, forcing a sombre expression, which told Harry he didn't plan on easing up. He was used to it though, so he wasn't put off by the prospect. More so, he was intrigued that a priest was able to rebuke an archdeacon without being rebuked himself. "I didn't mean to cause a fuss. I only heard the Archdeacon accuse Harry—"

"Stop." Sirius interrupted, waving a hand as he continued to pass Harry and Mother to take a seat at the large table in the centre of the room. It was empty, meaning the children had most likely taken lunch outside to make the most of the dry weather – or to avoid being in the presence of their guests. "Before you make your greater respect for Remus even more obvious and damage my pride."

Harry watched Mother purse her lips at being interrupted before turning to Father Remus, "Father, please take a seat. We should talk about why you have so kindly visited."

Once all four of them were seated around the table, Sirius glanced over his shoulder towards the closed door to the kitchen. "I smell soup." He commented, nudging Remus, "And you make me skip lunch to come here first."

"If you're hungry, we can provide you with food." Mother offered, her fingers twining on the table.

"No thank you, we're fine." Remus assure her, ignored Sirius' heavy sigh, "We won't be here long. We just need to discuss the details of Harry's apprenticeship. I assume he has already told you of his being chosen to go to The Grail for training?"

"Of course. When are you planning on leaving, Father?"

"As soon as possible," Remus smiled at Harry, "I just have a few loose ends to tie before we go."

_Later that night_

"Please."

The hushed pleas went unheard, capture and muffled by a rough strip of fabric. The loose jangle of chains, however, was not. The captor's fingers twitched on the ledge beneath the window before they resumed their slow, persistent tapping. He continued to gaze through the glass, at the wind bending the bare trees under the hastily gathering black clouds. Rain drops, small and sparse at first soon grew heavy and showered the derelict chalet that overlooked Hallow.

"_Please_."

The plea came louder this time, along with a brief scrape of wood against stone. The tapping fingers curled into a tight fist as its owner turned slowly to face the other man struggling in the chair in the centre of the bar room, straining against his bonds of thick chains draped across his torso and restraining his wrists. His struggles were growing less frequent and noticeably weaker. His captor reached out to yank the gag from his mouth.

"Please, what?"

"Let me go." The man begged, ceasing his efforts to break free of his bonds to instead hand his head, his chin tucking against his chest, "I have a family to look after. If I don't work…they don't eat."

"Such a shame."

The captor moved forward to rest his hands on the arms of the chair, examining his prisoner thoughtfully. The damage man refused to look up, keeping his eyes firmly on his knees. Who knew what the man would do to him if he so much as met his gaze without permission? He had already sustained several injuries for misconduct. Breath held, he tried not to flinch when the younger man lifted his chin roughly, forcing him to meet his icy blue eyes. The movement jolted his bruised ribs painfully, but he held his groan back with some difficulty.

"If you have a family to support, don't you think you should have thought twice before breaking the law?"

"Father, I—"

"Besides. It's not for you to decide when you are released."

Father Remus straightened up, brushing his hands briefly over the front of his cassock and stepping back. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a deep, calming breath before looking back down at the captive.

"I will not be carrying out your punishment today, Miller."

Miller released his pent up breath in relief; he was to be given a break from the daily onslaught, for which he could only wait each day, hungry and exhausted – or so he thought.

"No." Remus continued, glancing again at the widow, out of which the rain had only worsened, "I have somewhere to be tonight, for preparations to go away for a while. Which reminds me, I won't be here from the beginning of next week on. It doesn't affect you, though, since I was planning on releasing you tomorrow. Anyway, you're time this evening will be taken by my apprentice."

Miller's heart sank as he watched Father Remus cross the room to the door and out of his sigh. He stared out the window listlessly as he listened to the door open.

Harry greeted Remus when he was granted entry to the room. He had been standing in the cold hallway for fifteen long minutes, huddled miserably under what was left of the roof. The room in which Father Remus had been with the other man was the only one left with its four walls and roof still standing. The hallway was left open to the elements, a shrub standing where the door used to be, the grass of the forest growing between the broken stones. There was no evidence of any other rooms, but Harry assumed they must have existed once. He couldn't remember a time when the odd little cottage had been in one piece and wondered why no one had bother knocking the rest of it down or at least renovating what was left of the place. He guessed he was about to find out. Father Remus had brought him here from Hallow, before disappearing into the room and closing the door, only telling him that he needed to speak to someone in there and that he would fetch him in a minute.

Well it had been more than a minute, so Harry greeted Remus gratefully, shaking rain water from his hair, blinking rapidly to rid his eyes of the stinging sensation the violent wind had given them. Remus stood the side, letting him in. Harry stepped inside quickly, but stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on Remus's company.

The man was sat facing the only window from the centre of the stone room. His hands were chained to the arms of the wooden chair. Thicker chains were wrapped around his torso, seeming to rip through his shirt. The man's head hung limply on his shoulders, not responding when Father Remus closed the door again and asked him to greet Harry, who watched in dismay as he rounded on the bound man and brought the back of his hand across his face, hard.

The sound of knuckle against skin echoed around the room.

"Introduce yourself." Remus repeated, his face calm, his eyes burning with anger. Harry flinched inwardly, instinctively taking a step back. This was the side of the priest that no one wanted to meet, the side they all knew was there but rarely ever saw. Most believed his temper to be mere rumours, but Harry had known better and had been right – men of the Church were not to be taken lightly.

For that reason, Harry didn't need to ask why the man was chained up, alone.

"Miller," the man breathed. Talking seemed to be physically painful, but he carried on, "My name is Andrew Miller."

Harry glanced towards Remus, who beckoned for him to come around to stand beside him, in front of Miller. As he did so, Harry's eyes avoided the priest's, whose eyes he could feel watching him closely. Harry kept his face carefully blank as he looked the thirty-odd year old man over, noticing the sharp edges of the rusting chains, the blood crusted tears through his clothes.

"Explain why you are here." Remus said, his voice soft this time.

Miller shifted, wincing when his bindings scraped against his flesh.

"I taught a bastard a lesson."

Harry's eyes widened, glancing towards Father Remus, but the priest did nothing. Instead, he turned his back on Miller to look out the window, clasping his hands behind his back. When he turned to Harry, he gave him a smile that allowed him to look his age, which he so rarely did. His normally stern expression tended to add ten years to his appearance.

"He started a fight with another in the Parish."

"Was he provoked?" Harry asked warily, glancing again at Miller, whose mouth had twisted into a bitter smile.

"The cause of the fight doesn't interest me." Remus answered, "Andrew started it. So he is punished. He has been here for two months and is released tomorrow. Fighting, as you know, is a serious offence, which is why he's been here for so long. Others have joined him here and been given leave before him. I think he preferred sharing his time here with other sinners, but you'll be able to re-join them all soon, Miller."

Harry nodded silently, wondering why he was there, if the man was soon to be released. Surely he didn't expect him to do anything, like carry out a punishment – those who broke the law in Prepotence were subject to the punishments of the priests and Hallow was infamous for having one of the most stringent priests in the province. The priests in charge of the Noveants of Hallow had to be unbending, due to their parish being so large – the second largest in Prepotence, after the capital, The Grail.

Punishments were oft' whispered about and, hopefully, exaggerated, but none of the unfortunate few that Harry knew had been sent away to 'do time' divulged what had happened to them, or even where they went.

It was an unspoken rule within the Parish that no one asked and no one answered.

"I usually make their last day with me a memorable one," Remus went on, "But I'm needed elsewhere. Harry, this is your test. Take care of business here and I will take you to The Grail with me for further training."

Again, Harry was silent, the muscles across his jaw jumping. He was expected to take over the priest's job already? Father Remus crossed the room to the door again, without another word. This was ridiculous – he didn't even know what he supposed to do, let alone whether or not he wanted to go through with it.

"Wait!" Harry blurted, before lowering his outstretched hand. Remus paused and looked back at his student, brows raised impatiently, the door open. The rain had gotten heavier again, the sound intrusive with the door ajar. "I...I'm not sure what I'm doing." Harry admitted. Miller laughed quietly. Father Remus stepped forward and pressed his hand against one of the stones on the wall. Harry watched in surprise as the stone was pushed further into the wall, triggering the floor beside the priest to collapse.

Remus laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, giving him a smile that made the boy itch to step away from him. The priest's smile grew as he considered him silently, before turning to go without another word. Harry swallowed and watched him leave, shutting and audibly locking the door behind him. Redirecting his stare to the trap door at his feet, his heart plummeted.

"Christ..." he muttered.

**A/N2:** Drop a review, my lovelies, it makes me do a happy dance ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **It isn't mine. All J.K. Rowling's.

**A/N:** Okay, so no one's come after me with pitchforks and torches, so I assume whoever's reading this is enjoying it ¬_¬

**Chapter Three**

_Hallo, Prepotence_

"Get on with it, then."

Harry looked back at Miller, whose eyes were carefully averted from the cellar entrance. The man was shaking now, all bravado having dissipated. Harry stepped away from the trap door, his stomach churning. Looking down at the exhausted man in chair, images of blade and other objects he cared not to think too hard about flashing across his vision. His eyes roved over the lacerations the captured man's body with a dark new understanding.

"What has he don't to you?" Harry asked, voice unintentionally hushed Miller looked away, over Harry's shoulder to stare out the window behind him, shifting slightly on his chair.

"What hasn't he done to me would be a simpler question to answer," the man winced, "Just…please do it. The longer you wait to begin, the worse it will be. For the both of us."

Harry straightened abruptly, clenching his fists, "Don't assume—"

"That you don't want to hurt me?" Miller gave Harry an apologetic smile, "You're too easy to read, boy. The priest could see the same in you, I'm sure. You're his next apprentice, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Then I'd be careful. If you don't hurt me like he would have hurt me, were he here, you could be in a lot of trouble for disobeying him. I don't think dropping you from his teachings would be your greatest worry, either."

Harry slumped back against the wall, dropping whatever pretence he had left, even though it hadn't hidden his nerves from either this man he didn't know or Father Remus, apparently. He stared down at his clenched fists in frustration.

"I'm sorry." he muttered, "I didn't realise that I would have to do something like this."

"Then you're a fool."

Harry looked up sharply at the bound man. After all, he was the one being punished – who was he to speak to him in such a way? But when he met the older man's eyes, he only found sorrow there.

"I'm not as foolhardy as you think." Harry insisted, "I knew that if I got into the Church, this was the kind of thing I would have to face up to doing one day, but I misjudged when I would have to face it."

Miller coughed, wincing as his bindings scraped against his skin. Harry bit his lip when he saw blood as the older man coughed.

"Surely," Miller said once he had regained some composure from choking on his own blood, "You could do this easily now, if you have always known you have to anyway. Punishing me now is no different to punishing some other sinner in the future."

"I never planned to punish anyone."

"Just do it. I deserve it." Miller was sounding desperate now, his hoarse voice straining, "I started a fight – I broke the law!"

Harry began to pace back and forth before the criminal, scratching his chin, deep in thought. After a moment of gazing outside at the rain, he stood still and turned back to the man, firm in his decision.

"I will not punish you." he said resolutely. Miller looked as though he was about to start panicking, so he added quickly, "If Father Remus finds out then I'll accept the punishment for lying to him, but I refuse to hurt someone who is probably innocent."

"I started a fight." Miller responded, staring blankly at the ground. Harry frowned, feeling slightly irritated that his good deed was being ignored. He stepped forward, before realising he was becoming aggressive for no reason and cleared his throat, glancing again at the trap door.

"You want me to hurt you?" he asked quietly.

Miller looked up at him, his eyes hard.

"No."

"Then I won't."

_Outside_

His fists clenched as he listened silently to the exchange inside the dilapidated building. He had had a mind to go in there and force the ungrateful boy to kneel alongside the sinner himself.

"So this is where you got to."

Remus started and turned to see Sirius heading through the trees towards him. He joined the priest under the narrow shelter, shaking his head like a dog and spraying Remus with rain water.

"What are you doing up here? You know James and the rest are waiting for you." Sirius said with some annoyance, ignoring Remus' glare at being soaked, "I don't appreciate being used as James' messenger, so come along and hurry so I can give him a piece of my mind when we get back."

"Why come, then?" Remus asked with a sigh, his ears straining to hear inside the hut. Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but stopped and narrowed his eyes suspiciously when he noticed where Remus' attention was focused.

"I thought you were going to let that guy go." He said, jerking his head in the direction of the door, "What are you doing? Is he still in here?"

"I…" Remus hesitated, glancing at the door, "I brought Harry to finish my work. I want to see how he reacts."

"You let a _boy_ have access to that room?" Sirius asked with a low whistle, "You're...that's harsh."

"Why do you say that?" Remus asked coolly, stepping from under the shelter and beckoning for Sirius to follow. The instant he did he was drenched, the rainwater soaking through his hair and robes, making them cling to his body. "I was expected to do such a thing – and more – at his age."

"You were a special case and you know it." Sirius snorted, lifting a hand to open the door.

"Don't."

Sirius paused, his hand on the handle, and looked back at Remus who continued to stand in the rain, watching him with narrowed eyes. "Why? I just want to see what a good job your boy is doing."

"He's not." Remus admitted, "He is doing nothing. He won't."

Silence ensued as Sirius shifted his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. "What are you going to do to him?" he asked quietly, "I know I tease him, but he's a good boy really, he—"

"Nothing, Sirius." Remus interrupted impatiently. He beckoned to his companion, "Come. This rain is only growing worse. We'll drown before we arrive if we linger any longer."

Sirius hesitated, his hand still on the door, his expression one of doubt. Remus sighed.

"He will still be coming to The Grail. I will do nothing to the boy."

_Yet_, Remus thought bitterly as Sirius nodded and followed him back through the trees, away from the house where the boy was disobeying him as they went. His fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically. So, the boy thought himself above Remus' expectations? Better than the Church's laws?

Better than the Church?

Better than Remus himself?

If it was possible for a man to remain uncorrupted by the Church, it would be through _that_ boy that Remus would find out how. He saw his disdainful glances during services, hastily supressed from both himself and Remus. The priest would bring him to The Grail and would make sure that the boy knew his place. But he hoped the boy would resist.

He would break him.

He would enjoy breaking him.

And he would enjoy being broken.

_Next day_

Harry laughed as Mother's grip on him tightened and forced her to release him. She stepped back, her eyes glistened as she looked up at him fondly, a small, sad smile creasing the lines around her mouth. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Sirius tapping his foot impatiently and Remus trying to quiet him in hushed tones. Harry ignored them, determined that he would say an apt farewell to the woman who had diligently raised him and to the kids alongside whom he had grown up.

"I won't be gone forever," Harry assured the elderly woman, laying a hand on her shoulder, "I'll be back once my training is over."

"I know." Mother replied, glancing over at the priests, "I know, so enjoy yourself. Don't think about this place too much – you'll love The Grail."

"It's much more exciting than this place." Sirius sighed, shifting his weight edgily, ready to leave as soon as Harry was finished at the orphanage. Harry restrained himself from throwing the man a heated glare, feeling Remus's gaze on him – he hadn't been able to look the young priest in the eye since the previous day when he had been ordered to carry out that prisoner's punishment. Strangely enough, Remus had not asked about it when he had come back for him and had said nothing to Miller, either, making Harry almost certain that he knew of his abstinence. He was waiting in fear and trepidation for the priest to confront him about the direct disobedience and had been thoroughly surprised when he had been told that he was definitely to go with Remus to The Grail to begin his apprenticeship with the Church.

Pushing his worries from his mind with some difficulty, Harry turned to his fellow orphans, opening his arms. The younger ones and the girls hurried forwards to embrace him, almost knocking him over and making him laugh again, telling him that they would miss him and that he couldn't leave them there alone. He shook a few of the older boys' hands before turning to one in particular, his smile fading quickly.

"Draco." Harry nodded shortly.

"Harry."

Harry didn't like the smug smile that was spread across the other boy's face and was about to say so, when Sirius let out an exaggerated sigh and stepped forward to grasp Harry' arm and start to tug him towards the door.

"No offence," the Archdeacon said with a charming smile aimed at Mother, "But we're on a tight schedule. We're expected at a welcoming banquet tomorrow in three nights and if we don't leave now, we're not going to make it on time."

#Harry made to object, but closed his mouth when he saw Remus nodding in agreement. Instead, he wrenched his arm from Sirius's grip to heave his trunk to the door. Turning to give his family one last wave goodbye, Harry led the way outside to where an old stagecoach was waiting, four large horses waiting patiently with their driver up front. He heaved his trunk into the covered baggage compartment at the rear where Sirius's and Remus's were already stored and looked once more to Mother, who gave him an encouraging nod, lifting a greyed handkerchief to her eye briefly. Harry looked away after seeing her proud smile and waited whilst Sirius let Remus into the coach. As Harry climbed in last, the driver hopped up outside, taking up the reigns.

"Ready?"

Harry took a seat opposite the two men and looked at Remus before giving a short nod. Remus smiled back jovially and knocked on the roof of the coach whilst Sirius slammed the door closed and called out to the driver to 'get going'. Harry leaned back on the comfortable seat and silently appreciated the soft swinging motion of the carriage, rather than the usual bumping that other coaches gave. He supposed it was due to the new leather braces attached to the chassis that were popular around the Province recently.

Harry remained silence as the coach rumbled slowly through the everyday crowds of Hallow, through the markets, past the High End, where the bankers and more upmarket retailers had set up business, and beneath the stern eye of the Church in the centre. The Priest and the Archdeacon commented every so often about a certain Noveant they may have spotted outside, or about the simple coach in which they were travelling, but neither attempted to draw the boy into their exchanges – much to his thanks; there was no chance of Harry becoming emotional over the place, but he was decidedly chagrined to be leaving Hallow behind. He had, after all, been in Hallow since his birth up to the present, so leaving the bustling and cobbled Parish was quite the milestone.

It took them little under an hour to reach the outskirts of Hallow, where they passed through several farming villages and hamlets. Men and children alike looked up when they heard the coach approaching and men and children alike averted their stares when they saw who occupied said coach and bowed their heads until they were out of sight. The two preachers mentioned nothing of the Noveants' behaviour as though it were expected and continued to talk aimlessly of the weather, agreeing that it looked likely to rain.

Sure enough, just as their carriage swayed past a wooden signpost that signified their leaving Hallow and starting on the Spine – one of the main connecting roads that wove its way between the main Parishes of Prepotence – Harry laid his hand on the window as rain drops began to adorn the glass. He craned his neck, looking back at his home, staring at nothing in particular and thinking of everything in particular as the rain grew so heavy so quickly, it soon drowned out the sound of the sixteen hooves pulling the carriage outside. Harry let out the breath he had not known he had been holding and slumped back in his seat. Had he been expected to feel somehow different once he had finally crossed over the border of his home Parish? Well, if he had, he was sorely disappointed as he silently observed that he did not, in fact, feel at all different for being outside of Hallow, than he had whilst being inside of it.

Swallowing, Harry managed a cursory glance at his elders seated opposite him. He had not taken the time to worry – until now – about how he was supposed to act around the men. Was he supposed to speak only when spoken to? How was he expected to behave for the long journey to the capital and how was he expected to behave once they were actually there? Judging by the way Father Remus and Archdeacon Sirius were bickering, Harry assumed they were not overly concerned with proper decorum once they were out of the public's eye. With the old, stone houses and the bleak, grey faces of Hallow gone to be replaced by the towering, close-knit trunks and the heavy, lush leave leaves of the forest surrounding the Spine, all cordial and stern pretences vanished as Remus slapped Sirius's hand away as the Archdeacon reached over to tug on the Priest's hair.

"Come on." Sirius was saying with what could only be described as a devilish grin, "You can't tell me you're not even curious."

Remus cast Sirius a thick scowl, "Yes, I can. I am not even curious. Why in the world would I want to see than man after everything?"

"To prove to him," Sirius answer, holding up a silencing finger when Remus scoffed, "And to yourself, that you're a man who has successfully dedicated himself to God despite what he put you through."

Harry watched curiously as Remus closed his eyes briefly before redirecting his gaze outside.

"How do you know if he's still alive?"

Sirius rolled his eyes, "He was fine the last time I saw him—"

"What?" Remus snapped. Sirius held his hands up in a display of innocence whilst Father Remus stared at him in a way that made Harry's skin crawl and the hairs on his arms stand on end.

"I didn't go looking for him." Sirius explained hastily, "He was there at the last meeting I had with James in The Grail. He asked after you. Seemed quite interested in how you were doing…"

"I'm not sure why," Remus muttered coldly, "But you seem to be under the impression that I give a damn."

Harry's fingers automatically clenched into straining fists at the blasphemous curse as he stared at his mentor. Remus only glanced at him sparingly for a sparse moment before letting out a tired sigh and returning his gaze to outside again. Sirius laughed jovially, patting the Father's thigh. Remus slapped him away for the second time.

"Don't look so shocked, boy." The archdeacon chuckled, "We're only men and men curse. Don't think we don't hear you Noveants turning the air blue when you think we're not around."

Harry could only blink as he looked back and forth between the two men who were the most feared in Hallow – the sternest when it came to the teachings of the Church. Sirius' amused smile soon turned to a more characteristically cruel one when Harry failed to speak.

"You can't act so green when we reach The Grail, kid." He advised in a low voice, "Trust me, you'll be eaten alive if you put your choirboy ethics on show."

Harry scowled, unable to disguise his strong distaste for the man and spat, with more venom that he had initially intended, "Trust _you_? I don't see how having morals should be considered as weak within the Church."

A long, stiff silence polluted the coach after Harry's outburst. The boy held the archdeacon's stare, but his palms itched as he felt the Father's eyes on him. After a moment, a grin split Sirius' face, but before he could speak and more than likely incense either Harry or Remus further, the priest bowed his head humbly.

"I apologise if I have offended you." He murmured. Harry was mollified and must have made it too obvious, because Remus' expression turned hard when he looked back up at him, "I apologise, but I won't say that I'm not going to do it again. I am perfectly fine with saying sorry each time my tongue slips, but know this," Father Remus tilted his head a fraction to the side, his eyes like ice that made Harry freeze beneath the cold stare, "Whether I apologise or not, I am neither remorseful nor am I sincere. In this matter I agree with Sirius. You must leave your boyish views of the Church behind you and continue on by accepting the cynicisms of your elders. When we reach The Grail, I have no doubt, judging by your reactions, that you will have to rethink your image of the Church."

Sirius snorted appreciatively at the astounded expression Harry wore. Remus merely returned to watching the forest passing by the window.

"My image of the Church is one shared by all Noveants and—"

"No," Sirius laughed, "It's not. Ask any of them behind closed doors and they'll all have the same image of the Church, sure. But it's not yours, boys. Far from it. The Grail is far more relaxed that Hallow, I'm going to enjoy watching you trying to adjust."

"The world is split into those who pretend they are of good intention before the eyes of God and those who see through their act and pretend they don't see it." Remus looked at Harry coolly before continuing, "And those like you. Those who are like clueless children until the day they die, by choice. But don't mistake my tone for disdain, boy. It is with those like you that I can begin to recreate the Church into one led by men who are truly God fearing."

"That's his idea of a compliment." Sirius interpreted, jabbing a thumb in Remus' direction with a small smirk. Harry looked between them, thoroughly confused by the odd turn the conversation had taken.

"What do you mean, recreate the Church?" Harry asked slowly. Remus smiled, the cool aura vanishing in a second, leaving Harry wary.

"Nothing of any significance." Remus replied, a hint of bitterness detectable in his voice, "I apologise for divulging some of my more offensive ideas – and that apology, I assure you, is sincere."

_The Spine, Road to The Grail_

As they had begun their journey in the early hours of the morning, so it took a while for it to grow dark in the forest. Sirius had fallen asleep a mere ten minutes after Remus had had a few choice words with a nervous Harry and was currently snoring softly with his head leant against the window, on which the rain was still pattering lightly. Remus had been balancing a thick book on his knee, a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose, but ceased in his efforts to continue to read, muttering that it was too dark. He turned to Harry as he closed his book.

"Tired?" he asked pleasantly. Harry started, having been staring blankly at his own hazy reflection in the glass beside him. Remus smiled a weary smile and shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Harry nodded silently. "I am, too. I dislike travelling. If I'm correct, we should be close to an inn by now that is usually used on this leg of the journey to The Grail."

"Will we sleep there?"

Remus nodded just as the coach jerked to a sudden stop, causing Sirius's head to bounce against the solid frame of the window, the hit waking the man violently. Remus laughed softly, setting his book down on the seat between them and standing to open the door. He gestured for Harry to follow as Sirius muttered under his breath, rubbing his head irately.

Once outside, Harry' gaze landed on a small structure set between the trees, a stable built a little ways away, to which their driver urged the horses once all three men were out of the coach. Harry squinted through the rain at the inn as they made their way towards the entrance. It was larger than he had first assumed, as much of the building was hidden behind thick oak trunks. Sirius thumped a fist on the door twice and they had only but wait a moment before it swung open to reveal a large woman in a tight grey dress, clutching a faded red shawl around her shoulders. The sound of low voices and the smell of warm food leaked from the entry, making Harry' mouth water and raising goose bumps along his arms. He clutched his cloak tighter around him, thinking back on their meagre lunch of bread and cheese and water.

"Hullo, Fathers." the landlady greeted Sirius and Remus, dipping into a shallow curtsy. She straightened up, thoroughly ignoring Harry, and stood back, saying, "Come in, come in out of the rain. Am I right in assuming that you'll be wanting a room for the night?"

"Right you are, Louise," Sirius grinned, throwing an arm around the woman's shoulders as he kicked the door shut on the increasingly stormy night, "Now, don't be a stranger, do you have my usual stock here?"

Harry looked around the room as Louise answered that, of course she did, whilst casting an apprehensive look at Father Remus. The inn was large, welcoming and cast in a soft orange glow from the great fireplace on the opposite side of the room. Men, women and a few children sat were scattered at sturdy tables, all with generous plates of meat and potatoes in front of them. A few lone men were seated at the bar, each cradling a mug of something warm. Harry assumed it wasn't alcoholic, seeing as alcohol was illegal, but then he wasn't sure. He had never been to such a place in the middle of nowhere – perhaps they thought they wouldn't be caught in such a remote location. Harry looked at his feet when the new company started to attract curious glances from those already there.

"Don't be nervous because of me, dear Louise." Remus said reassuringly to the woman, "I am not brave enough to stand in between Sirius and his favourite sin."

Louise laughed nervously whilst Sirius grinned. He turned to Harry and patted him on the back with so much gusto, Harry stumbled forward a step, much to the amusement of Louise.

"This is Harry," Sirius introduced him, "Remus's new trainee deacon. Harry, this is Louise – the best damn cook on the road between here and The Grail."

"I'm sure he tells all the women that." Louise smirked as a squat, beady-eyed man approached them and shook Sirius's hand enthusiastically, before offering a bow of the head to Remus, who returned the gesture demurely.

"And this here is Jonathon," Sirius added with a wink at the man, who chuckled, tucking his thumbs in the braces he wore tight over his shoulders, "Supplier of the golden goods."

"Nice to meet ya, lad." Jonathon nodded to Harry, who noticed that the landlord had several teeth missing. Harry nodded back weakly to both innkeepers, looking to Remus questioningly. The Priest smiled back with some reserve in his expression and turned to the man and woman.

"We do require a room, Louise." he said with a glance around the room, "We're only stopping for the night and will need to be back on the road by dawn."

Sirius moaned and rolled his eyes, "By dawn, he means late morning."

"We'll also require a warm meal before we sleep, breakfast on the morn' and food packed for the day tomorrow, if that isn't too much trouble." Remus glanced around the room for the second time, his gaze causing some of the other travellers to look away, "I see you're busy."

"No trouble, Father, of course." Jonathon said, shaking his head, "Did you come by coach or by horse?"

"Coach." Remus answered, tilting his head in the direction of the door, "Our driver has taken it around to your stables to put the horses up. If you could have our trunks brought up to our room as soon as possible, I can pay you in advance, since I doubt I will have time tomorrow morning."

Jonathon's and Louise's faces both lit up brightly at the mention of early payment and their demeanour towards Father Remus warmed instantly. Harry looked on, silently amused, as Jonathon summoned a boy a little younger than himself by the name of Griffiths and ordered him to fetch their luggage and bring it up to room five. Sirius took Jonathon over to the bar, releasing Louise to instead hook his arm over the innkeeper's shoulders, talking in conspiringly low tones. Harry looked after them curiously, but Remus recaptured his attention by placing a hand on his arm.

"Come, let us wash before we sup." the Priest said softly.

"Do you need me to show you up to your room, Father?" Louise asked, glancing over at her husband and the Archdeacon, who let out a loud bark of a laugh, attracting a mixture of entertained and apprehensive stares from the other punters. Remus shook his head, assuring her that he knew where his room would be, unless they had managed to move it since his last visit. Louise laughed and let them go, obviously relieved to be free of Remus's presence. Harry couldn't blame her – the Father carried an intimidating air with him that was only heightened when one got to know his stern, unforgiving character. His smiles and warm manners did little to disguise the ice in his blue eyes.

Through a set of doors on the other side of the inn, down a hallway with several doors and up a set of steep, wooden stairs to another hall scattered with doors and lit with loose fitted sconces, was their room. Remus led Harry to the first door at the top of the landing and opened the door, going in and making his way to the window immediately to heave the window closed on the opposite wall. The sill and the floor beneath the window were dark with the rain that had been allowed to pour in.

"They never close the windows." Father Remus sighed, turning to examine the room. Harry did the same, stepping in to look around and take in the twin beds pushed up against the dark, stained wall. A small table with a mirror propped against the wall behind it was on the other side of the window. Harry returned his gaze to the two small beds before glancing at Remus, chewing his lips hesitantly. The Priest seemed to read his mind and smiled.

"Don't worry." he assured a nervous Harry, "One of those is yours and the other is Sirius's."

"Where will you...?" Harry started, but trailed off with the assumption that the answer to his unspoken question, most likely, wasn't his business, but Remus smiled again.

"I won't be sleeping here tonight. I have business in a town a little ways away from here, but I'll be back before we set off tomorrow morning, bright and early."

Harry wanted to ask who he was going to meet, but by the way Remus's smile quickly faded, he gathered that it wasn't his place to ask. Luckily, before the atmosphere had a chance to grow awkward between them, Sirius appeared in the doorway, followed by Griffiths and two other boys of the same age, one with shocking red hair and freckles that covered his face and arms and another blonde with a large birthmark on the side of his neck that disappeared under his shirt, all hauling a large trunk each, puffing audibly. When they dragged their luggage into the room to set it in the corner, they stood, seeming to be waiting for something.

"Come on, boys," Sirius said loudly, pressing a copper coin into each boy's hand and ushering them out of the room, "We're weary from out travels and I must say – a nice, hot bath wouldn't go amiss."

The boys nodded silently and made to leave, but Remus stopped them before they could disappear. "Forget that bath, at least until after we've eaten." he told them, sending Sirius an exasperated look, "I don't suppose Harry wants to sit here and watch you wash yourself."

"Well, you never know." Sirius smirked with a sumptuous wink at Harry, who balked. The boys nodded, ever silent, and disappeared, closing the door behind them. Sirius stretched, holding his arms out above his head before striding over to his trunk, digging in his pocket for a key with which he promptly opened his luggage, throwing open the lid. Remus busied himself opening his own trunk whilst Sirius started to throw various garments onto the bed. Harry watched with some curiosity as Father Remus did the same thing, but in a tidier manner as Sirius yanked his cassock off and pulled a dark blue, collarless shirt on over his head, leaving the buttons done up before running a hand through his black hair, mussing it up even more. Remus rolled his eyes at the hurried, slapdash way in which his colleague had changed and carefully pulled the white tab from his collar of his cassock to set it on the table. Sirius rolled his eyes at Remus's slow process of changing and rocked on the balls of his feet impatiently.

"It's easier for us to enjoy a meal in public out of our clergy uniforms." Remus explained to Harry, who was waiting for them so they could all head down to eat, "It makes men uneasy when they see our white collars."

"But don't they already know who you are?" Harry asked with a sceptical frown.

"A man's mind is simple to pacify." Remus answered cryptically.

"They must assume that we're off duty once the collar's gone." Sirius suggested before baring his teeth nastily at Harry, "That only makes it easier to catch them when they're up to no good, when they assume we're turning a blind eye."

Harry nodded silently, casting Remus a sideways glance. He wasn't so sure that many here would let their guards down with this certain priest around – even this far out, people obviously knew who he was. It seemed that Father Remus's reputation preceded him. Remus was busying himself with the last few buttons of his cassock and let it slip from his shoulders, revealing his torso. Harry's eyes immediately travelled to his waist and felt bile rise in his throat unpleasantly.

A rope, adorned with hundreds of shards of glass – much like Miller's bindings – was tied around Remus's waist, so tightly that with each small movement the man made whilst folding his cassock, the glass cut into the open wounds already there, blood seeping onto the rope slowly. Remus seemed to catch Harry staring from his peripheral vision and gave him a brief, grave smile, but said nothing. His hands went to his back and he untied the rope, slowly prying the torturous accessory from his flesh, wincing as he did so, to set it on the table beside his priestly vestments. Harry's eyes didn't seem to want to look away from the priest's scars of self-harm – he knew that Father Remus preached of daily punishment and that comfort was sinful, but he had assumed that the context was to be taken generally, to mean that living a simple life was better than a lavish one. According to the sight before him, Harry realised that Remus took his own teachings more literally than anyone.

Harry looked to Sirius, not knowing to do or say, but the Archdeacon was already watching Harry, his expression unreadable. It seemed that Sirius already knew of the bodily harm Remus inflicted on himself. Harry turned back to the priest, not knowing what he was going to say, but his unknown words were caught in his mouth when something else happened to catch his eye.

Was that...?

Remus pulled a white shirt on and Harry blinked, shaking his head slightly – he must have been mistaken. Why would the strictest Priest of Prepotence be wearing an inverted cross on a chain around his neck? The symbol of Satan, no less? He must have seen it too quickly at an odd angle that made the cross appear different. Remus was giving Harry a look that made him want to skip supper and hide in their room, but he was mollified when the Priest bent to rummage once more in his trunk to yank out something heavy and throw it over his shoulders – a dark, forest green travelling cloak, lined with dark fur and equipped with a hood that looked as though it might double as a cowl if pulled far enough forwards. Of course, he had a meeting to attend elsewhere. Harry relaxed a fraction, deciding that Remus must be leaving right away, but blanched when he was struck by the thought of being alone with the Archdeacon.

"Right." Sirius said, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, "Let's go."

The three headed back down into the warm light of the fire. Some turned their heads to look at them, but soon looked away, finding themselves quickly disinterested. Before Sirius had the chance to head to an empty table, Remus caught his arm and leaned in close, his voice dangerously low.

"Don't do anything to show us up." he hissed, holding Sirius's gaze determinedly, "You have Harry to look after and you're already in enough trouble with James as it is."

Sirius looked to the ceiling with an exaggerated sigh before patting Remus's hand which still grasped his arm firmly. "Fine." he agreed, "We will sit here obediently while you go off and have fun at your meeting."

Remus narrowed his eyes, but released Sirius, using the same hand to instead rake his fingers through his hair, pushing it from his face before pulling his hood up. The Priest looked between Sirius and Harry, looking as though he wanted to say something else, but he sighed and shook his head, pulling out a heavy coin purse from his pocket and approaching Jonathon by the bar, where Sirius and Harry heard him make their payments and offer extra to borrow a horse for the night. They watched as Remus lowered his cowl and swiftly exited the inn, stepping out into the wet night.

Sirius raised an amused brow at Harry's curious expression and led them to his chosen table. They sat in a mutual silence for a few minutes until Louise appeared, asking what they would like to eat and drink.

"Your delicious steak pie would perfect." Sirius grinned charmingly, "For the both of us. And a cold pitcher of water, if it's not too much bother."

Louise looked surprised, "You don't want some beer to warm your belly, Archdeacon?"

Harry' gaze flickered up from where he had been sketching his fingers knots in the wooden table, to Sirius, who didn't miss a beat, only calmly refusing the landlady of her offer. Archdeacon and beer were two words that simply did not – should not – belong in the same sentence. Louise curtsied and left them. Harry glanced around the room, at the pitchers held by most of the men, with a newfound understanding.

"Alcohol is illegal."

Sirius continued to watch the fire. Another log caught and was soon engulfed in the flames, burning brightly. He looked up at Harry and nodded, giving a smile that contained more than a hint of sarcasm.

"Yes. Well done. Your wealth of knowledge astounds me, boy."

"There are men committing sins before you and you do nothing?" Harry asked coldly, well aware that his tone was about to get him into trouble. Sirius leaned back in his chair, clasping his fingers behind his head idly.

"I'm turning a blind eye. Anyway, if I were to punish every man who sinned, there would be no men left."

"But they are actively breaking the law and you don't care—"

"Careful how you go, boy, or I'll see to it that Remus gives you a good whipping."

Harry shivered involuntarily and closed his mouth. Sirius's irate frown dropped and he gave Harry an inquisitively raised brow instead.

"You saw Remus?" he asked. Harry nodded mutely, the image of that glass-filled rope flashing before his mind's eye, making his stomach churn again. "What did you think?"

Harry paused, thinking carefully before he answered, "It looked painful."

"I'm sure it is." Sirius nodded thoughtfully, "Did it disturb you, seeing the way he hurts himself?"

Harry made no answer, but Sirius didn't seemed to notice, returning his gaze to the fire.

"He has scars on his back, too." Sirius said with a heavy sigh, "Used to whip himself but had to stop when he almost put himself in an early grave."

"He nearly killed himself?" Harry gulped feeling himself growing paler by the minute.

"Well, not on purpose." Sirius shrugged, as though that clarified the matter, "He doesn't want to die before he has proved himself to Him. And to himself, I suppose."

Harry blinked, unsure of what he meant, but Sirius just smiled and gestured to an approaching Louise, who set two large plates of steaming pie and potatoes before them. A young woman quickly followed with their water and two empty mugs, and promptly left them to their meal, but not before casting Harry a shy smile, blushing faintly. Harry looked down at his plate – never had he had so much food placed before him without having to divide it up into enough to feed twenty other hungry mouths. How was he supposed to eat so much on his own? He picked up his fork and soon discovered that doing so was surprisingly easy.

**A/N:** Wow, that was a long chapter, huh? I can't seem to stop when I'm writing this story…why don't you reward me by dropping a review?


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Not Mine

**A/N: **Are people enjoying the story? I can't tell…review and I'll know *hint, hint* Anywho, tis chapter might be a little confusing – there're going to be flashbacks. They'll be in italics, so they're clear. Also, if anyone's confused and wants some context for the story, review with q request and I'll PM you back with an extended summary. It will be explained further into the story, though, so if you can wait…well, wait. But otherwise, don't be shy!

**Chapter Four**

_Inn near the Spine, Road to The Grail_

The fire crackled and spat on the far side of the room, devouring the two large pieces of firewood that been recently added. The sound of the door closing ended the pattering of rain that had started up a few minutes ago. The low murmur of voices went on, uninterrupted by pause. The owners of the voices were seated around the room at stout tables, leaning over wide pitchers. The flickering shadows across the low rafters may have been considered slightly eerie, if it wasn't for the irresistibly welcoming aroma of meat and gravy.

One of the men at the table nearest the door lifted a convivial hand. Another beckoned to him. Remus nodded, lowering his head, and took a seat at their table, aware of curious glances from other tables. He met the eyes of the three other men at the table, shifting on the uncomfortable wooden bench.

The man who had greeted him was short – even whilst sitting – and had a round face framed by dark curly hair streaked with grey. The man who had invited Remus to sit with them was closer to his own age and had an open, friendly face with light brown hair down to his shoulders. The third, who had only watched Remus silently so far, had a tall, thin frame that was hunched over slightly. He wore his slicked back, black hair short over dark, sharp eyes above a long, hooked nose and thin lips that were pressed together tightly. His long, thin fingers met at their tips beneath his chin as he watched the newcomer.

"I'm Paul Bridger." the large man introduced himself, offering his hand to Remus who shook is politely, restraining himself from wiping the sweat from his own hand afterwards, "That one's young Joe Tyler." Paul continued, nodding to the young man who also shook Remus's hand, "And that's Severus."

Remus returned the thin man's stare steadily.

"Severus Snape." the man expanded, "And you are?"

"Remus."

"No last name?" Snape asked with raised brows. Remus quickly realised his mistake. The others had deliberately provided two names each – Remus had no surname, but felt foolish for not following Severus's pointed example. His pause had ruined his chances of adding one, so Remus gave Severus a brief smile.

"No last name."

"Many people here will not have two names." Snape said, gesturing a long fingered hand around the room, "They won't have two, but they will provide you with two."

Remus answered with silence. Paul and Joe watched on in much the same way.

"You're new to this, I assume?"

"No." Remus answered, biting back a smart retort – he did not like this man, "A lot has changed since I was in a place like this, with people like these."

"You can't be over twenty-five." Snape observed, his brows drawing together, "So it can't have been that long ago."

Remus smiled, a little coolly, "I'm twenty-six." he corrected, but made no move to expand further. Paul cleared his throat, seeming to sense a tense atmosphere between the two strangers and decided to take one conversation in a different direction.

"What brings you here, Remus? Albus is across the province on business."

Remus smiled – it was refreshing being addressed by his own name by people other than James or Sirius, instead of 'Father', or simply 'the Priest'.

"I received a letter from—"

"Marder Snape." Paul nodded. Remus nodded, before the name clicked. He looked at Severus, who was watching something behind him, a look of distaste souring his face.

"Snape?" Remus questioned, "A relative of yours?"

Someone laid a hand on Remus's shoulder and took a seat on the bench beside him. Remus turned to see a man with black hair and a hooked nose.

"Cousin." the man said with a glance at Severus, who scowled back. Remus saw the resemblance immediately – the only differences were that of their build, Marder being built and straight-backed where Severus was thin and hunched, and Marder's hair was not slicked back but ruffled and unkempt. Marder appeared to be the elder, judging by the lines around his eyes and the smatters of greying hair at his temples.

Marder clapped Remus on the back and gave him a wide smile.

"So, what brings you to the Order?"

Remus smiled, touching a discrete hand to his chest where his cross lay beneath his shirt.

"What else, other than to bring down the Church?"

_O'Grail Orphanage, The Grail, Prepotence_

_12 Years Ago_

_He stared through the bars across the landing beside the stairs, his long, thin fingers curled around the bar. The child beside him knelt down, curious too. The old, damp wooden floorboards creaked under the added pressure. The two people downstairs looked up at the sound. The other child dove away, flustered at being caught eavesdropping. The boy, however, stayed. He leant his forehead against the cool bars, his white blonde bangs sticking through the gaps. His equally cool blue eyes didn't blink as they watched the strange man speaking with the Sister in charge of the orphanage. The stranger had to have been a preacher of some kind, judging by his attire._

_The man turned back to the Sister, speaking some more with her. The boy watched her glance back up at him in surprise and nodded, gesturing for the preacher to follow her. The boy watched them go silently._

_Later the same day, the boy was summoned. When he arrived in the entrance hall, the stranger was there again, standing beside the sister. His hands were clasped before him and he wore friendly smile, but the expression didn't seem to suit his face. His drooped jowls shuddered as he told the Sister that she had been right – the boy was something. His mouth was a pale, thin line that struck across his face under a wide, flat nose. His lined eyes were small, dark and beady and watched the boy closely. He had a cover of thinning grey hair that was combed back in a way that revealed his receding hairline. The rest of him was round and globular and his cassock draped over him like a tent. The boy watched him silently._

_The preacher held out a hand to him._

_"Nice to meet you. I am Priest Fenrir. I have chosen you to be my new apprentice."_

_Inn near the Spine_

Remus woke with his fists clenched tightly around clumps of straw and his while body tensed. He looked around, having no clue for a second as to why he had been sleeping sitting up in a stable with a large, grey horse still tacked up dozing in front of him, before he remembered the previous night; his meeting with Marder and the Order had ended earlier than he had apprehended and since he had no bed in the room he had paid for, he had ended up sitting down for a quick nap before he had to get the others to leave. Only, judging by the brightness of the sky outside, it had been more than a quick nap.

"Are you okay, sir?"

Remus turned to see the young stable boy peering over the door at him curiously.

"Stiff." the priest yawned, pushing himself to his feet and brushing himself down. He pulled his cloak around him tightly against the cool morning air and glanced up at the blue sky, briefly taking note that –for once – it wasn't raining. The further away they travelled from Hallow and the closer they got to the south, to The Grail, the more common a blue sky would become.

"What time is it?"

The stable boy glanced over his shoulder at what must have been a clock, "Seven, sir."

Remus cursed under his breath and swiftly exited the stables to head back into the inn. The barroom was deserted. Dark, dim light filtered through the dirty windows. Remus continued through and up to his room. He pushed the door open and – even though he hadn't honestly expected much – was irritated to find Sirius and Harry fast asleep on the two beds. Remus slammed the door shut and folded his arms, watching with satisfaction when the other two jolted awake. Harry stiffened, pulling his sheet up over his head whilst Sirius sat up quickly, his eyes wide.

"Oh, it's just you." Sirius muttered after clocking Remus by the door. He slumped back on his pillows with a tired groan, "Do you have to be so loud? I'm trying to sleep."

"Yes." Remus snapped, "We've slept in. Get up. Now!"

Harry obeyed immediately, as Remus knew he would, pushing his blankets down and swinging his legs over the side of his bed and yawning widely whilst sitting up. Sirius rolled over, throwing an arm over his face.

"We don't have time to spare." Remus snapped, moving to his trunk and throwing his cloak into it, "You know we have to get to The Grail in time for the dinner. We'll have to make up time in the dark tonight if we don't leave now."

"Oh, fine." Sirius mumbled, rolling off his bed and stretching slowly, "Where's my cassock?"

"Wherever you threw it last night." Remus muttered, pulling his shirt off quickly and stuffing it away on top of his trunk unceremoniously so he could close and lock it. He turned to the table, ignoring Harry who was staring at his body again when his eyes landed on his rope. With an impatient sigh, having completely forgotten about it for a moment, he turned back to his trunk and unlocked it again to put away the rope. He wouldn't be wearing it today – he was in no mood to be in pain for another day of journeying, especially when he was meeting up with Order. He pulled out his cassock and pulled it on, leaning down to button the long length of buttons before he could slip his white tab into his collar.

Yanking his hair back roughly into a band, Remus turned to the others and was placated to find them both ready. Sirius was whispering something to Harry, who looked pale, whilst stepping into his shoes and locking up his trunk.

"Whatever you're saying to him, stop it." Remus told Sirius with narrowed eyes. Sirius spread his hands innocently, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

"So the kid asks me a question and I get bollocked for answering."

Remus saw Harry send Sirius a hot glare when he thought no one was looking but turned to Sirius instead, raising his brows in impatient question.

"What question?"

"He just asked about the scars on your back."

Remus looked away, his jaw tensing. He brushed his bangs from his face that had already managed to escape from his hair tie and moved his gaze to Harry, who was fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Go and find Louise. Tell her we need these trunks moved as soon as possible, our coach ready to go and our supplies for the road. Now!" he snapped when Harry failed to move at a speed that pleased him. The boy nodded and scurried from the room hurriedly, closing the door quietly behind him. Remus turned to Sirius, whose expression turned serious at what he saw in his eyes.

"Are you trying to turn him against me?"

Sirius clasped his hands behind his back and raised a single, innocent eyebrow.

"Why would I do that?"

"Why would you turn the last two apprentices I've had?" Remus retorted. Sirius's only response was a small, self-satisfied smirk. "Why are you so set against me training a deacon?"

"You think too much of yourself," Sirius answered, turning to open the door, "My life does not revolve around yours. Let's go. Like you said, we're running late as it is."

Remus watched him leave, silently seething. The Archdeacon was deliberately intimidating his students – before now, he had not been overly troubled by it, but Harry was perfect for what he needed and if he was torn from his grasp before Remus could integrate him in his plans, Sirius would find himself in the boy's position instead.

_O'Grail Orphanage, The Grail, Prepotence _

_12 years ago_

_"Stand in the centre of the room, in the light." Priest Fenrir said with another forced smile, "So that I may see you better."_

_The boy did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room from which the Sister had vanished, to give them time to talk before he was to pack his things and leave for this stranger man's house. According to the Sister he was a priest from the other side of the Province capital, The Grail, and wanted a new face. The reason for a 'new face' had not being given. The boy had not asked._

_"Sister Camellia told me that you were never given a name." the Priest said quietly. The boy glanced up – sure enough, several of the other boys were watching from the landing, grasping at the bars, curious as to why anyone had taken such an interest in him._

_"Do you know why that is?"_

_The boy made no answer._

_"Your mother didn't want any part of you associated with her. Not even your name."_

_The boy, again, made no reply. He had already been told this by many spiteful adults wishing to hurt him. What they didn't realise was that he already knew that his mother wanted nothing to do with him. If she had, he wouldn't be in the orphanage – in his eyes, it was simple and he didn't understand why being told the truth should hurt him. It hurt the other boys plenty. Sometimes, he could hear them weeping into their pillows at night, begging God for a new family. _

_He, however, understood that most of them had been born from wedlock, which was against the law, or into a family that already possessed a child. Everyone knew that one child was all a married couple was allowed. Any excess infants were turned orphanages. If they weren't, the mother would be blamed in the humiliation and shame of the father and she would be out on the street with her sinful babe, left to beg for food and mostly likely starve to death._

_The boy couldn't understand why the other boys didn't understand this as well as he did. The Sister was always reminding them and the boy was the only one who didn't need reminding. He couldn't understand why people would do things that inconvenienced others, why they dared to disobey the law and, therefore, their God._

_"I had to give up my last name when I joined the Church." the Priest went on, his eyes never leaving the boy, "It shows God that we belong to no one but Him. In this, we are the same."_

_The Priest's smile faded to be replaced with a dark stare at the wall behind the boy. It passed after a brief moment and the smile reappeared. The boy stood still, his gaze staying forward, burning into the opposite wall._

_"You're perfect." the Priest said from behind him. The boy felt a cold, rough-skinned finger trail down the nape of his neck. A shiver flowed through the boy from the last point of contact to the end of his spine. "Pale, almost translucent skin; long, blonde hair; innocent, blue eyes...you're even built like a girl, with your tall, slim, willowy form. I wonder if you realise any of this, boy?"_

_The boy didn't make any reaction. The Priest came around so he could see him again._

_"Most would ask why I would comment on such a thing."_

_The boy made no comment._

_"Ah," the Priest breathed, "Sister Camellia told me you don't speak often. That will be a strength between us. You will be an obedient addition to my household."_

_The boy made a small nod in affirmation._

_"Good," Priest Fenrir murmured, curling a lock of the boy's hair around a scarred finger, "No one will know you where you're going so I will give you a name to be recognised by when we arrive in the South of The Grail. You won't have a surname, because my occupation has deprived me of one, but I'm sure any amount of names will be treat enough for you. Now, go up to your room and pack your things. You're coming with me."_

_The boy bowed his head and made his way upstairs. Inside one of the bedrooms, the group of boys who had been watching from the landing were waiting on their beds, the ones who slept in other rooms perched on his. They stared at him, obviously wanting to know the meaning of the Priest's visit, but no one bothered to ask, knowing that they would receive no answer. The boy was just as curious as to why he had been chosen, but Priest Fenrir had not told him. If he was not meant to know then he would make peace with ignorance._

_The Spine, Road to The Grail_

The three men sat on the edge of a river bank, unwrapping their lunches of cold meat cuts and bread whilst their driver fed and watered the horses. Sirius was sipping from a suspicious-looking hipflask whilst Harry was down by the riverside, filling water skins for him and Remus. The Priest was watching the clouds silently, leant back against a rock protruding the soft ground. He had just woken from a short nap, being unable to sleep in the coach – the rocking motion only made him feel nauseous, so he read in order to distract himself. His eyes slid to Harry, who was making his way back over.

That had been the second time in as many days that Remus had dreamt of his childhood. Of him. The fact disturbed him greatly. He had a vague idea of why the memories were resurfacing in his subconscious and the vague idea was sitting beside him right that moment, handing him a wet water skin. Remus took a gulp of the cold, refreshing water, looking sideways at his new apprentice. The memories had not resurfaced with his other apprentices, but then, none of the others had been quite so promising as Harry was proving himself to be. More and more with each passing day.

"Are you missing your home, yet?" Remus asked, looking away from Harry as the kid looked at him suddenly. The Priest watched as Sirius flopped onto his back on the grass, closing his eyes and folding his arms under his head.

"Not really...not yet." Harry answered after a moment, "I am a little worried about how Sister Grace will cope at the orphanage without me."

"You were too old to stay for much longer, anyway." Sirius observed. Harry answered with a short shrug, before seeming to realise that his silent response could have been considered rude by Remus and instead replied that there were a couple of troublesome cases that he always dealt with, one just a few years younger than himself. Remus listened with half of his attention on what he had seen before he had awoken. He sincerely hoped that these dreams would not affect his work with the boy.

_South of The Grail_

_12 years ago_

_As the boy unpacked his meagre belongings in his new room – a room that he alone would be sleeping in, without a noisy gaggle of dim-witted boys – the priest entered without knocking._

_"I want you to wear this. We're going out."_

_The boy nodded at Priest Fenrir, glancing at the outfit that had been placed on the small bed. It was a three pieced suit, made up of a black jacket, a deep blue cummerbund and a matching bowtie, along with a crisp white shirt and black dress trousers. The boy's eyes lingered. He had never before seen such new, clean clothes. The orphanage had only been able to clothe him in second hand things, always either too big or damaged in some way by their last owner._

_"Your name," the Priest said from behind him as the boy took his things from his tattered trunk, "Will be the name of my grandfather. You have the same look as he does in the pictures of his youth. Where we're going, the resemblance will be noted." _

_A dry chuckled came from the Priest, "Your name will be Remus."_

_The boy blinked at such an unusual name._

_"Remus was the name of one of the twins who, in ancient legend, founded Rome. Remus was killed by his brother over a quarrel about where to build the city." the Priest smiled, stroking his own bare chin, "Take this name as a challenge; we shall see if you can survive whoever turns out to be your Romulus, young Remus."_

_In little more than an hour, Remus had bathed, combed his hair through and dressed in the three piece. He felt fresh and clean – the cleanest he had ever been, completely rid of the layer of filth he was forever encompassed in. The Priest looked up at him, dressed in his own formalwear, a smile creeping across his face. He laid a hand on his large stomach as his eyes roamed over Remus's sylphlike figure, accented by the cummerbund. Remus swept his hair from his eyes. Strands were already slipping from the tie, as they always, so stubbornly, had. The Priest approached him and pulled the tie out, tossing it onto the dining table. He combed his fingers through Remus's hair, letting it fall over his shoulders, framing his defined features._

_"They will adore you."_

**A/N2: **Is this getting too creepy? Review and let me know!


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